She had been lying in the hammock on the stoop of Martin's cottage for an hour, waiting for Martin.

It had taken her a long time to do her hair and immense pains to satisfy herself that she looked nice,--for Martin.

Her plan was cut and dried in her mind, and she had been killing time with all the impatience and throbbing of nerves of one who had brought herself up to a crisis which meant either success and joy, or failure and a drab world.

She couldn't bear to go through another day without bringing about a decision.

She felt that she had to jog Fate's elbow, whatever was to be the insult.
She had discovered from a casual remark of Howard's that Martin, those hot nights, had taken to sleeping on the boat.